so very alone…

Being alone on Valentines day is not really bad at all. It’s not like being alone on Christmas, where you really feel the weight of solitude. The truth is, no man I know really likes Valentines Day. I’ve heard men describe it as a test, one that’s impossible to answer correctly.

The holiday asks the question, “How much do you love your girlfriend or wife?” And the answer must be in the form of an object, accompanying flowers.

The test is graded subjectively, and the grade can be changed without notice.

So, on this day of love, I am happy as can be to be alone.

However, knowing that Jane likes plants, I have arranged to have FTD deliver the “Village Rose Basket” to her office, from “An Anonymous Admirer.” Because I expect she thinks about Valentines Day differently than I do.

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I know this is going to sound really pathetic, but I’ve lost around $14,500 playing poker over the past five days.

I’m not, of course, even close to being the biggest loser in gambling that’s ever lived. I know other people have lost a lot more, in a lot shorter period of time. But for me, the real reason I feel like such an idiot is that I didn’t even care about the poker playing.

I was playing for Jane. I am such a chump.

Here’s what I mean. After I left my company (I’m practicing making it sound like I wasn’t fired, since technically I wasn’t, and I want to be able to sound convincing when I start interviewing for work…which is going to have to be a lot sooner than I originally thought), I went on a big online poker binge. I had this idea that maybe I’d wind up at the same virtual table as Jane, and that I’d be able to tell it’s her from the way she played, or her player handle or something.

Of course, that never happened. I should have thought it through: I’d have had a much better chance of "accidentally" running across Jane by hanging out at grocery stores close to where she lives.

I can’t believe I just admitted I’ve considered doing that.

Anyway, this morning, thinking that what I needed was an adventure and maybe a change of pace, I drove out to one of the reservation casinos close by (If you consider a five hour drive "close").

I was thinking maybe I’d do better if I could see my opponents, get a read on what their hands look like.

Instead, I did considerably worse.

I was getting a lot of lousy cards at first — 3-9, J-7,  2-Q — but I kept folding and just lost a few blinds. Then I finally got dealt K-Q suited (hearts). I bet four times the big blind, so it surprised me when two people called, including this Mennonite who gave the appearance of being lost. The flop was A-10-7, with two hearts, so I had both an inside straight draw and a flush draw. The Mennonite made a huge raise, the other guy folded, and I called. The turn was a 5 of spades. He pushed in a big stack, and I called again. I was committed. The river was a 7 of hearts, so I got my flush. The Mennonite checked, I put in half of the rest of my chips, and he raised me the rest of my chips. I called and turned over my flush. He had a full house, Aces over 7s. I told him I’d be right back. That was just my first trip to the ATM.

I could go on, but I don’t want to.

Afterward, this Mennonite — shit, I still cannot believe I got cleaned out by a Mennonite — told me that I was the easiest person in the world to read. He said that even people who are usually no good at reading people could read me. He said that I’m so good at telegraphing my emotions that maybe I should go into acting.

For a second I thought about making a joke about whether as a Mennonite he had sinned by mentioning telegraphs, but I could tell it wasn’t the right time. Plus, I’m pretty sure he could have beaten me soundly if it came to that.

No more gambling for me. Tomorrow I’m going home (staying in the casino hotel tonight) and putting my nice new Mac up for sale; I should have no problem finding either a music studio or a small film editing house to buy it. Then I’m going to fix up my resume and start job hunting.

One last thought: Cable TV has ruined hotel porn movies. There’s no longer any allure to watching a porn pay per view in the hotel, when you can just as easily watch one at home at half the price, without having to own up to it to the checkout clerk the next morning.

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I finally got in touch with Richard. He kept asking me how I was doing, which made me feel bad somehow, and then he gave me some advice, addressing me by name. “Harlan,” he said, “You’re not invisible. You need to stop staring at women.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I was thinking about getting together with Richard for drinks or coffee, but I’m just not up for it. And no, I didn’t go to my brother’s house. I didn’t feel like trying to patch up old wounds right now. Besides, I got caught up playing online poker. I cannot believe how many bad beats I took. I’m down more than a thousand dollars. Actually, I’m down more than two thousand dollars. I’ll get it back. 

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I’m sorry, yesterday I lied when I said I had lost my job.

No, I’m only kidding, I really did lose my job.

The only thing I seem to be able to do is relive my meeting with the HR woman, thinking of things I should have said and imagining how the outcome could have been different.

I’ve also been reading Neal Stephenson’s classic, Snow Crash, which usually makes me feel better. But today I’ll read about half a page and realize I have no recollection of what happened in those paragraphs, because I’m going through that meeting with my stupid HR woman again.

I haven’t called my sister to tell her about this, because I know exactly what she’ll say, and I don’t want to hear it.

Richard called once — from his cel phone, not the work phone — during the day, but I let it ring through, although about half the time I wish I wouldn’t have, because part of me wants to know what they’re saying about me at work. I guess the part of me that doesn’t want to know wins for now.

I haven’t said a single word to another person today, although I’ve done plenty of talking. Haven’t gone outside, either. I don’t plan to do anything different tomorrow.

Isolation score: Let’s just assume it’s at a really high number until further notice

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I went by the HR woman’s office twice more today before I finally found her in her office. I told her that I had been looking for her because I had made an embarrassing error and wanted to rectify it before it became a real problem.

The HR person said, "What do you mean one embarrassing error?" As it turns out, the reason she’s been out most of the day is because she’s been talking with Jane, Elaine, and the company’s law firm.

You know what’s weird? My company, a law firm full of lawyers, is represented by a different law firm. That’s not exactly a vote of self-confidence.

The HR woman told me that Jane and Elaine were evaluating suing me and the company, but what they really wanted was for me to no longer be at the company.

I asked if it would be OK for me to resign instead of be fired. She said that she had already asked Jane and Elaine that question, and that they considered that an acceptable solution.

I asked if I could apologize to Elaine, and the HR person said absolutely not and that I should be very careful to not try to contact her in the future, for my own good. She also told me I should get some counseling.

I don’t know why, but when she said that, I teared up and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I think she thought I was sad, but really I was just doing everything I could to not shout, "All I did was tell one fucking stupid joke!"

Obviously, it wasn’t the time or place for saying that.

If the HR woman had known that I stole her 7" LCD slide show picture frame during one of the times I came by her office today when she wasn’t there, she probably wouldn’t have liked me any better.

Anyway, I was escorted to my office, filled a couple boxes with my stuff under the eye of security, and then out of the building. We didn’t say anything to each other, which was a relief. I didn’t want to explain myself to him, and I really didn’t want to hear his opinion of me.

So, all things considered, I guess this hasn’t been as bad of a day as it could have been. Sure, I found out the woman I’ve had a crush on was considering suing me, but instead I just lost my job.

Here are the thoughts that keep circling inside my head.

1. I wish I hadn’t spent so much money on a new computer.

2. Now I don’t have an excuse to not go see my brother.

3. I didn’t like my job, but I like not having it even less.

4. The HR woman is the first and only person I have spoken with today.

Isolation Score: 11

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Coming in to work today, I noticed nobody has said, "Hey" or "Hi Harlan" as they go by. Everyone avoids eye contact, finds something else to look at, and keeps moving.

Richard sent a "WFH" (Working from Home) email, so he’s not here either.

This has got to be about that stupid joke yesterday.

I went by Elaine’s office a couple times, but the door’s closed and I can’t bring myself to knock.

I’ve gone by the HR woman’s office, but nobody’s there. I think I’ll go there again right now and see if she’s back.

I just realized, the only words I’ve said aloud today have been when I’ve been talking to myself.

Isolation score: 10

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I’ve had a good couple of days. Too good to continue, that’s for sure. And I think this blog’s to blame.

Ever since a bunch of people started reading this thing and leaving comments, I’ve started thinking something new: that I’m interesting and funny, and people like to hear what I have to say.

You can tell, I’m sure, from the beatdown I gave Ashley and my jokey posts the past few days that I’ve been relaxing and basically turning off my "think about it before you say it" filter.

Shit, what a mistake. If everyone were able to magically take back — completely erase so nobody remembers — three statements in their lifetime, what happened today would have been one of my times.

First, here’s a little background. One of the people in my team, who I’ll call "Elaine," obviously had a boob job around the Christmas break. That is, she took a "vacation" around the middle of December and came back to work in January with these comically enormous knockers. Seriously, they’re porn star jugs.

Today, we had the team’s weekly status meeting, where everyone goes around the room and explains where their projects are and tries to make it sound like everything’s going to plan, and you’re really busy but capable, and otherwise fool the manager into believing you don’t mostly surf the web all day, every day.

So I’m sitting by Richard, whispering sarcastic little comments about people, as people take their turns. When it’s Elaine’s turn, she says something like, "If Ops doesn’t deliver the schema I’ve spec’d out by this time next week, their prospective customer email push program is in very big trouble."

And I whispered to Richard, "As big as her boobs?" You know, just a throwaway reference to her boob job.

The trouble is, I had the bad luck to say it right at the moment all the talking had died down and the blower for the heating vent had turned off.

In other words, every single person could hear me as clear as a bell.

Everyone looked at the table. Elaine’s face turned red and she folded her laptop shut and walked out of the room. I looked over to Richard, hoping he’d give me a clue how to get out of this, but he was looking down and away.

So I said, "I’d better go tell her I was joking," and I left too.

But she wasn’t in her office, and she hasn’t been in there the five or six other times I’ve walked by.

Other than that, I’ve been staying in my office with the door closed. Richard hasn’t been by. Nobody else has, either. Not even my manager.

I need to remember: this is real life and anything I say can bite me in the ass. I shouldn’t joke. I shouldn’t goof off. I shouldn’t think I’m funny. From now on, I’ll remember to keep my thoughts to myself.

I am such a jackass. I wish I had never been born.

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I have to confess that I wasn’t able to make it through all the comments to that last post. Some of you people are sick. And here’s something. You know how I was saying that it’s important for me to tell the truth on this blog?

Well, forget that!

I’ll just make one quick statement to correct some possibly misleading ideas. First, I’m not really shy. I’m a social butterfly.

Second, I’m a very attractive man. I look like Brad Pitt with George Clooney’s hair. Even though my penis is the size of a baguette, I’m quite attentive in bed, especially with Victoria Secret models.

I had a busy, busy day. This morning, I took my yacht for a cruise and ran across a boat that was stranded. I had to cancel my appointment with the Prime Minister of Venezuela to tow this other yacht back into the harbor for repairs. Well, it turns out they were doing a shoot for Playboy, and they invited me to board the yacht.

I’m not one to boast, but let’s just say they wore me out.

When we got to the harbor, it turns out that a couple of ultimate fighters were jealous that I had had sexual relations with their Playboy model girlfriends, so a fight broke out. I knocked one of the guys down with one punch, but the smaller guy turned out to be the greater threat. He had me in a chicken wing hold, and things may have gone sour, but one of the women I had recently had in a different hold struck him hard enough to allow me to break free, and that was all I needed.

I made short work of the 270-pound gentleman.

Tired, I returned to the estate to visit my children, whose mother died in a tragic airplane accident. After putting them down for the evening, I put the finishing touches on my most recent novel, which incidentally is the first book to win a Hugo award before its publication. My damned agent leaked the first draft. Oprah is hounding me to appear on her show, but I don’t feel right about that since I’m such good friends with Bill and Hillary.

Then I did a little cancer research and wrote another entry on my fake blog.

Isolation score: Go to hell

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I implied in my last post that I have a large sex organ. That’s not exactly true. Let’s just say that I don’t need to cut a very large hole in the pumpkin. And it bothers me. If I’m going to make outlandish claims like that, I might as well pretend to be a completely different person who throws money around at strip clubs and has sex with a different woman every night. That’s not me.

I’m surprised that penis size doesn’t come up more often in the mainstream media. I wouldn’t bring this up, but based on all the spam messages that fill up my In box, I must not be the only guy who isn’t hung like a donkey. In fact, penis size seems so critical to a man’s psyche that I’d think novelists would include that information up front. “Call me Ishmael. I have a 5-inch penis.” I’d think even the writers of the Bible would have understood the importance of the penis:

“So God created man in His own image; and He created them male and female. God named the first man Adam, and He did give unto Him a penis two palms in length; then later Adam called the woman, Eve, who measured three spans by two spans by three spans in circumference.” -Gen. 1:11

Joking about my small penis makes it seem like I’m okay with it. I’m not.  When I was in middle school, I remember at least a couple of instances when guys had to go up to the chalkboard when they had an untimely erection, and people laughed at them (I remember one of the guys holding his arms up proudly, as if he scored a home run). I too was called to the front of the room when I had an erection, but no one laughed. That’s because no one noticed.

Even back when I was skinny, my penis seemed disproportionately small. My genitals are like a little bundle of grapes tangled in hair. Now, if I were ever to get naked in a gym, I’m afraid guys might think I was in the wrong locker room. I have no fear of being naked in a gym locker room because I vowed I’d never go in a locker room ever again, but taking my clothes off in front of a lover is a whole different manner. Gulp. As sad as it sounds, I think my mediocre passage through puberty contributes to my shyness and anxiety.

Well, there it is.

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Sharing an office with Richard has been great for me — please don’t say “I told you so.” Ever since I started moving around as a kid, meeting new people got more and more difficult, and I got sucked into some kind of mental vortex. Whenever I talk to people, I become intensely — and painfully — aware of whatever I’m saying. It’s as if my inner voice is competing with my outer voice.  Imagine trying to have a conversation with one person while a different person shouts in your ear, “That’s a stupid thing to say! No, why would she care about your neighbor?” It makes it easier to be alone. And if you’re alone long enough, it makes it that much harder to be with people. In those rare cases when I do pull myself out of my intense self-criticism during a conversation, it’s usually because I’m angry. And that leads to shock and remorse.

But not with Richard. Not anymore. I can talk to her. We just had a long conversation about the LOTR movies. I got a little angry when he called Tom Bombadil “too faggy” — like he’s one to talk — but he didn’t allow my anger to ruin the conversation. It’s great.

Anyway, it feels like I’m breaking out of a negative cycle, and it’s only a matter of time before I become normal. That’s my greatest aspiration — normalcy. I just want to be a normal guy who talks to people and has relationships with people, and maybe even has sex. Right now, there are thousands of people having sex while I write this, and there will be thousands of people having sex while you read this. Is it so strange to think that I could be one of those thousands? The only thing I worry about is my penis size. I might really hurt someone.

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